


Forbidden Love

by 221blogger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And Mycroft will ALWAYS hold a place in the British Government, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Based in 1700's, Declarations Of Love, First Time, Fluff, For now they are fine..., Forbidden Love, French Revolution, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mrs Hudson is adorable as always, NOT SHERLOLLY - IT IS AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE, Sherlock Has a Military Kink, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock Is a Virgin, Smut, Tags will change in future to more explicit, This fic is JOHNLOCK, With hints of Mystrade, multi-chapter, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-08-03 04:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16319492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blogger/pseuds/221blogger
Summary: “I will end now, but not without telling you, my dear and gentle friend, that I love you madly and that there is never a moment in which I do not adore you.”A forbidden love in a time of revolution. What could go wrong?





	1. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Archduke of Austria

**Author's Note:**

> The first two chapters will be in the form of diary entries, giving you guys an insight into everything important that happens BEFORE Sherlock and John meet. Enjoy!
> 
> All credits for the BEAUTIFUL renaissance painting of Benedict/Sherlock (which I feel REALLY suits his image for this story) go to Gemmiona on DeviantArt. You can visit it here: https://www.deviantart.com/gemmiona/art/All-times-Sherlock-Epoch-of-romanticism-299441227

Born: 2 November 1755 in Vienna, Austria

—— 

**_19 April, 1770_ **

 

_Today is the day I am to be married to the Dauphine of France. Well, specifically, she is to wed me by proxy, as I am unable to meet her acquaintance until a later date. Her brother is to act as the proxy until I can journey to her, to France, for our ceremony in May. Arranged marriages - how dull._

 

_Although, an event such as this does free up the mind from any emotional constraints it may have otherwise held upon me. It was not required of me to meet, date, or even fall in “love” with this girl. I was simply required to ask for her hand in some type of semblance of peace between her father, the King of France, and my mother, ruler of the Habsburg dominions and sovereign of Austria. A convenient arrangement if you were to ask me._

 

_I have, however, given some thought to what I will be leaving behind on my journey to her. My mother insisted it is I who must “take the leap” and somehow be the saviour of our beloved country by uniting us in marriage. Due to the fact of her father being the King, it is to be expected that I shall overtake that title with the Dauphine as my Queen. Brother shall be thrilled, what with him taking up a position within the British Government amid their current... feelings towards the French. Oh how I do love to tease him._

 

_Little sister shall remain at home - Hofburg Palace - to keep mother company. She always did get along with her better, anyhow. While I will not admit to them my true feelings about this journey, I do believe I shall miss them._

 

 

 

**_16 May, 1770_ **

 

 _The Palace of Versailles is grand, I’ll admit. I do believe I shall want for nothing here. I met the Dauphine two days ago at the_ _edge of the_ _forest of Compiègne and today, we are to go ahead with the marriage ceremony. I am a little anxious, I confess, regarding the activities that are expected to take place after the festivities have ended. The “ritual bedding”, I believe it is called. One can only hope that such activities are simple to accommodate and mutually beneficial, although I cannot say I am physically attracted to her, nor am I certain she feels anything for me. This may be a disaster, after all._

 

_——_

 

_As predicted, the “bedding” did not take place. I am not disappointed, however. I believe the appropriate term would be relieved. She did not express any interest in the activity, thank heavens, as I fear my lack of experience may have traumatised her to some extent. I cannot speak for her experience, however. Be assured, I am not certain of such a fact, but I do feel I overheard talk of a gentleman named Moriarty, who I assume to be my new wife’s lover. Of course, if this gossip appears to be true, I do not hold any resentment toward her. She is young, as am I, and maintaining that this gentleman does not become a bother in regards to our peace-making alliance, I see no reason why he cannot exist in her life._

 

_If anything, it shall free me from the constraints of marriage to embark on my own life, without worrying about neglecting my wife._

 

 

**_04 January, 1771_ **

 

_It has been some time, but today I am embarking on a journey to visit my mother and younger sister back in Vienna. I shall be immensely grateful to be out of the cesspit that is France. It is so royal, so grand - so boring. I am thrilled to know that I will be returning to Hofburg, if not to see my family, then to be amongst my own company once again._

 

_I suppose I had not taken into account the sheer pressure that would be bestowed upon me once marrying the Dauphine. Due to our failed consummation (which has yet to take place), the French people are not taking too kindly to my being there. Staff and officials are claiming our lack of bedding one another is causing tensions to rise. It’s all very ridiculous. If I were able to turn to the people and advise them that actually, my wife is being kept rather entertained by her Moriarty, I believe they should simply understand that we are happy with our… arrangement. But, I suppose that is not how the world works, is it? No, I shall persist and continue to please the public with our false smiles and pretend love for one another. And who knows? Perhaps one day I shall fall in love with her. Maybe she is enamoured with me, but is not ready for a physical relationship. That, standalone, is something I am happy for. I too am not ready to embark upon a physical relationship with her. Perhaps one day. But not so far._

 

_My coach is nearing it’s end and so I shall return this diary to my pocket and once again step foot into the Holmes residence. Countess Hudson shall be pleased to see me. Oh, how I’ve missed this._

 

 

**_14 September, 1771_ **

  
****

_It appears our Moriarty may be beginning to show his rebellious side and is beginning to feign some political influence over my wife. He has been instrumental in ousting Étienne François, duc de Choiseul who had helped orchestrate the Franco-Austrian alliance - and in turn, our marriage - and exiling the Dauphine’s sister, the duchesse de Gramont. My wife’s aunts have advised me to refuse to acknowledge my wife’s paramour, but most have seen this as a political “blunder” that is jeopardising Austria's interests at the French court - whatever that means. Mother and the Austrian ambassador to France, comte de Mercy-Argenteau, have pressed me to speak to my wife’s lover in an attempt to reconcile our position and ease the tensions of the French public. I do not, however, believe I shall be doing this anytime soon. I am bored to death of the trivial habits the people find themselves partaking in, and I do not wish to be a part of it._

 

 

**_01 January, 1772_ **

 

_Mother’s whining correspondence finally broke me down enough to buckle at the knees and confront Moriarty. I have not heard the last of it and do believe it to be my only option. Apparently, all I am required to do is to simply acknowledge his existence in my wife’s life and all shall return to normal. I daresay this is the part that baffles me. I have come to terms and accepted my wife’s lover as a part in our marriage. I believe it to be fine. I have never stopped her. Yet, apparently, the public dislike not knowing the ins and outs of our relationship and so all I must do is inform them. “Yes, my wife is sleeping with another man. No, we have not bedded each other yet. Yes, I am fine with it.” What an unbearable nightmare._

 

_——_

 

_I approached Moriarty earlier this afternoon. Aware of what felt like the entire French public’s attention, I acknowledged him. Honestly, it is laughable. I stood facing him and simply stated “there are a lot of people at Versailles today”. Apparently, that was enough for him, and for the public. They are sated - for now._

 

_ **16 January, 1772** _

 

_I happened upon a rather interesting gentleman today. Why I have never seen him before, I am not sure, but I do know that I wish to meet him again. Such sentiments are not common for a person such as me... I tend to find solace in solitude. But this man was... Alluring. He held himself tall and proud - military - despite being a little shorter than myself. His sandy hair was smoothed back with neat precision and I do believe I caught his eyes wandering my attire. Or was it my body he was searching? My skin shivers at the thought._

 

_In a pleasant way, I might add._

 

_I noticed, after some time speaking to the man, that I hadn't asked his name. I am sure he knows of me, surely he will have seen the drawings of me in the newspapers that the idiotic public so loved to immerse themselves in. Or maybe, he was an outlier. Maybe he didn't conform to the same pattern as everybody else. Perhaps this man was a man like me._

 

_I could have engaged in this man for hours, however, regretfully I was encouraged to retire to my box by three o'clock. I chanced a final glance at the man, unable to voice my farewells, only to find his eyes already on me._

 

~~_Perhaps it is my turn to take a lover._ ~~

 

**_10 May, 1774_ **

 

_I dare say today is a solemn one. And I fear it is not due to the grievance of the French community, but rather of my own selfish needs. I am terrified. I am not ready._

 

_The King died today. Upon hearing the news, I swear to the heavens that I felt my heart stop. I remember feeling dizzy and then awakening in my chamber with mother beside me. She had rubbed my shoulder, as if attempting to comfort me. I remember snarling at her, snapping that I was not sad and that I did not need her pity. Hell, the King was not my father. My father had died years previous. He was my wife’s father - you know, the wife whom I barely aquatinted myself with. I had no feelings toward him. My body had betrayed me, however, and had exhibited almost all forms of fear at once, tearing through me like some sort of seizure. I believe I had allowed myself to forget this day was on the cards. A guarantee, even. I am to be King. King of France._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is still a LOT more to cover, but these first two chapters are going to give an insight into the backstory of Sherlock and John in this setting and hopefully lead us up to when they finally meet and the romance begins.
> 
> These notes will help you guys understand this story. If there’s ANYTHING you guys are confused about, please let me know, and I’ll be happy to clear it up for you!
> 
> For some context…
> 
> Sherlock is based off Marie Antoinette
> 
> Sherlock’s wife (arranged marriage, remember!!!) in this story is Molly Hooper, based off Louis-Auguste (later King Louis XVI)
> 
> Moriarty is Molly’s lover (I know, I’m playing a little off the “Jim from IT” scene, but hey ho) who is based off Madame du Barry - factually, she was actually Louis XV's mistress, but for the purposes of the story, I wanted Molly to have some happiness herself.
> 
> Mycroft is based off William Pitt - then British Prime Minister (not until 1778, though) (because of course, Mycroft has to be the British government, or he isn’t Mycroft)
> 
> Mrs Hudson is going to play the part of the governess, Countess von Brandeis who raised Marie Antoinette and her two siblings (I actually think Marie had like, 10 siblings, but for the purposes of this story, it will only be two!)
> 
> I will be telling you the context of other characters as they are introduced in later chapters. And don’t worry, Mystrade fans - there will be some of that later ;)
> 
> I will be doing my best to match the dates to the correct timeline as the events happened (this fic is taking a LOT of research, but I hope it will be worth it. If you guys spot anything wrong or out of place, let me know, and I can correct it)
> 
> (As you can see I had to do a little manoeuvring with the genders to make it work, but my main focus is to base this story on the secret love story between Marie Antoinette and Axel von Fersen during the late 1700’s. I hope it all makes sense so far!)
> 
> Also -- any words or phrases with a line through them means that they would have written it in their diary and then scribbled through it, almost as if trying to hide it or feeling embarrassed by what they wrote.


	2. Captain John Hamish Watson, Lord of the Realm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I left the ball shortly after, but not before catching the mysterious gentleman glance over his shoulder at me before retreating. I find myself remembering it now. His icy blue eyes, somehow mixed with a splash of green. Dark, unruly curls placed on the top of his head. He was like something out of my wildest dreams."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! Welcome to John's introduction. 
> 
> Credits to the beauuuuutiful renaissance painting go to https://www.deviantart.com/lizl/art/Martin-Freeman-Modern-Renaissance-355957460.
> 
> Enjoy!

Born: 4 September 1755 in Stockholm, Sweden

_——_

 

**_2 June, 1770_ **

 

_Tomorrow, I am to embark on my tour of the continent. The Grand Tour, I like to call it. My intentions are to see the world in all it’s glory, whilst completing my studies at military academies, including Brunswick, Turin, Strasbourg and Lüneburg. This shall be my first journey abroad and I do find myself truly nervous. More than anything, though, I am immensely attracted to the idea of exploring what the world has to offer me._

 

 

 

**_10 October, 1771_ **

 

_Switzerland is possibly in my top ten list of favourite locations to visit. Today, I met the most extraordinary man I believe I have ever seen. A philosopher by trade, and his name, such a peculiar one: Voltaire. An intimate friend of his, M. Constant, gave me a letter of introduction to him. I was struck by the beauty of his eyes and the vivacity of his expression. It was, I confess, curiosity rather than admiration which led me to seek his acquaintance. He was not only extremely clever, but also very lucky; and one of the reasons of his success was that he was disliked, admired and befriended by different great people in such a way that his fame could not fail to spread._

 

_I find myself enamoured by this encounter. While I have always been sure of myself, of who I am as a man - a proud, military trained man - I am both confused and disturbed by my feelings towards him. I am sure that such thoughts are punishable by rather extreme measures, and so I must find some way to dispose of this writing… Today. Right now. Oh Christ… this is so very wrong. I must leave Switzerland tomorrow._

 

_I do not know when I shall write in here again._

 

 

**_24 November, 1772_ **

 

_My tour has been going wonderfully. Currently I am residing in Turin, Italy, where I have been graced with the presence of King Charles Emmanuelle III. It is truly an experience I shall not forget._

 

_I have been keeping in touch with my sister Harry by post whilst travelling. I find that she is missing me terribly, and I her. I simply hope that she can take care of herself as she waits for my return._

 

 

 

**_07 January, 1774_ **

 

_I do believe that I am rather useless at recording my life as of late. I must confess, however, that nothing much has been happening. I have continued to study and travel over the past year or so, and I find myself nearing the end of my tour. At present, I am in France. I have paid a visit to the King Louis XV and found him to be a kind, charming gentleman. This grand tour of mine has certainly been an adventure._

 

_Today, I am attending a ceremony titled the Order of the Holy Spirit in Versailles. While I am not entirely sure what this ceremony entails, I am excited nonetheless._

 

 

**_16 January, 1774_ **

 

_I confess, I have found myself returning to a previous entry in this diary. The events of today have not just caused feelings to resurface, but have confirmed them in my mind. I do not know how to feel nor what to think. All I know is that I must not continue to feel this way. It is wrong… Nevertheless, I have diverged from the point of this entry. Let me explain._

 

_I met a man today whilst visiting the palace in Versailles for a ball. I did not know his name, but he spoke to me for a long time. I found him to be charming, alluring and quite ridiculously attractive. Some other partygoers appeared to recognise him and, before I knew it, he was swept away and retired into his box by three o’clock. I left the ball shortly after, but not before catching the mysterious gentleman glance over his shoulder at me before retreating. I find myself remembering it now. His icy blue eyes, somehow mixed with a splash of green. Dark, unruly curls placed on the top of his head. He was like something out of my wildest dreams._

 

_Upon leaving the ball, I asked another guest about the man I had just met. “Why, he is the Dauphin, of course!” the man had gleefully yelled before scuttling away. The Dauphin? Why had he been speaking to me, a man of utterly no relevance to him whatsoever? Could he see the way I looked at him? Why wasn’t he appalled by my wandering eyes?_

 

_I must not delve into this any longer. My mind is riddled with images of his face and nothing more. I must rest. This cannot continue. I shall continue my tour and travel to England first thing._

 

 

**_03 January, 1775_ **

 

_It has been almost a year since I have put pen to paper here. Let me begin by following from my previous entry._

 

_I travelled to England and made the acquaintance of King George III and Queen Charlotte. I only stayed for roughly four months, and soon found my tour coming to it’s end. I headed back to Sweden and that is where I am at present. I continue to serve proudly in the military under King Gustavus III._

 

_I recall hearing the news of King Louis XV’s passing in May of last year. Upon hearing the news, and as I write this, I remember the Dauphin. He would now be the King of France, wouldn’t he? With his wife, Queen Molly by his side. Although, I recall talk of her having a lover. And gossip that the two were yet to consummate their marriage. Not… That that has anything to do with me. I despise gossip. I ~~wonder if the King has taken a paramour?~~ The King and Queen of France’s relationship is none of my business._

 

_I already find myself short of words. I am afraid nothing happens to me anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed all of that, and that it made some sort of sense. The philosopher, Voltaire, I like to think would have been Scholto. The first man in John's life to awaken him to his sexuality. Of course, in those days, it was punishable by some rather gruesome acts. So obviously he's very... disgusted in himself? I don't know. He tries to push it aside but clearly, upon meeting Sherlock, he finds those feelings resurfacing and there's nothing he can do about it now.


	3. An Old Acquaintance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tweaked the first and second chapters a little last night, adding a new diary entry. If you haven't seen it yet, please go back and read those first. Enjoy!

**_18 August, 1778 (John Hamish Watson)_ **

_I went to Versailles to be presented to the royal family today. The King, always charming, said when he saw me, 'Ah! Here is an old acquaintance.' The rest of the family did not say a word to me._

 

——

 

John approached the palace nervously. He ran both hands down the front of his attire and sighed. _This is a terrible idea_ , he told himself. The captain had, once again, found himself in Normandy to see a large army camp that was training under the command of the Duke of Broglie. Besidesthe important military matters, he was treated to dinner and dances attended by other officers and their wives. Now that he had gotten some personal downtime, he made the ( _foolish, very foolish_ ) decision to pay the royal family a visit.

 

He hadn’t seen the family since his Grand Tour. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Since then, the King had died and had been replaced by Archduke William Sherlock Scott Holmes, the alluring gentleman he had met that night at the ball. Would the King even recognise him?

 

Standing in front of the palace entrance, he recalled some news he had heard a few years prior. It was a few days after the death of King Louis XV, actually. The new King, now in a position of power, had exiled his wife’s lover to please the royal family. _Not so pleasing for Queen Molly_ , he decided, and ran a palm over the light stubble beginning to form on his chin. He wondered about what this meant. Were the King and Queen intimate now? Had they been intimate the entire time?

 

John ran a hand through his hair. _Enough_ , he scolded himself. This visit would be purely professional. And, if at all possible, he would avoid the King, simply make himself known to the palace, and leave as soon as he could.

 

——

 

“Welcome to the palace, Captain Watson. May I take your coat?”

 

John nodded at the friendly gentleman and handed over his jacket. Approaching the main drawing room, he heard many voices. He wasn’t the only one coming to visit the family, apparently.

 

He stepped over the threshold into the room and stopped. _So much for avoiding the King_ , he thought. He gulped. The mans appearance hadn’t changed a bit. His cheekbones stood proud on his beautifully sculpted face-

 

“Ah! Here is an old acquaintance,” he smiled a genuine, contagious smile. “Hello, Captain Watson.”

 

“William! It is a pleasure.”

 

The two men shook hands, their touch lingering a little longer than it perhaps should have.

 

“ _Please_ , call me Sherlock.”

 

They walked across the room and sat themselves in two armchairs. The chairs faced one another but were angled slightly towards a grand fireplace. John admired the room, being sure to sit straight and professional. He allowed his gaze to drift over to the man opposite him, who was, in contrast, slouched in his chair. His hands were together, pressed under his chin. His long legs were outstretched and crossed at the ankles. He looked up at Sherlock and met his eyes. The King’s eyebrow arched at him, and a smirk played upon his lips. _Did the King just catch me admiring him? Is that what I was doing?_

 

John swallowed. “You look well,” he struggled, suddenly finding himself thoroughly humiliated by the encounter. He tried to look anywhere except at the man in front of him, but failed. The King leaned forward and tilted his head slightly to the right. John watched as his eyes drifted across _his_ body now, with no hint of secrecy. Suddenly, the Captain felt exposed. He cleared his throat.

 

Sherlock looked at John for a second before resuming his slouched position in his chair. “You don’t wear those clothes often, do you?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Those clothes,” Sherlock waggled his finger at John’s body, “you don’t wear them often. They’re clearly a few years old but there’s almost no sign of use at all.”

 

“Er,” John began, a little confused, “Yeah, I don’t. I’m usually in uniform.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes glinted. “Uniform? What uniform?”

 

The Captain could have laughed at the man’s childish expression and sudden interest. “I am a Lord of the Realm, Sir. And a military man. I am usually in my military dress, but I understand that these visits are of a less formal nature, are they not?”

 

Sherlock hummed lowly in his throat and nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, “I do believe you are correct, Captain.” He almost seemed disappointed.

 

“John, please.”

 

“John…” Sherlock tested the name, and John could have melted in his chair when he heard the way he had said it. “John _H_ Watson?”

 

“Yes, the H refers to my middle name,” he chuckled. He noted the way the King’s eyebrow once again quirked up, as in encouraging him to continue. John shook his head. “Oh, no. I’ll leave that one for Your Highness to figure out.”

 

Sherlock grinned. Oh, how he loved a challenge.

 

The two men continued to converse until late afternoon. They discussed their lives over the past few years that they had not seen one another. It wasn’t until they found themselves only amongst the company of two or three others that John had realised the other members of the family had not greeted him. Not that he minded, of course. He found himself to be pleasantly relaxed in the King’s presence - not something he had experienced before - and no longer felt embarrassed by his wandering eyes. Sherlock’s eyes were travellers themselves, it seemed, as he had noticed them taking several journeys across John’s body throughout the afternoon.

 

Before he knew it, the King’s presence was required elsewhere in the palace. John’s smile - which he hadn't realised he'd had the entire day - dropped at word of the Queen requesting time alone with Sherlock, but the man opposite him only smiled sadly. “Come and see me again, won’t you? Stay a while.”

 

“Of course,” John nodded, standing up. “Of course.”

 

Sherlock watched as John retrieved his jacket and gave one final nod in parting. At the sound of the palace doors closing, the King sighed and dropped his head into his palms. Sherlock felt something for this man, he knew that much to be true. He considered himself an intelligent man, and had certainly noticed signs of attraction (even arousal, at times) in the Captain’s face, voice and body language. He understood, of course, the repercussions that came with such… amorous exchanges. But they were safe, weren’t they? Sherlock doubted anybody else in the room had picked up on his feelings, as they were far too engrossed in dull conversations with other people present. The Queen had not been there today to meet John, what with her current situation and all. He rose from his chair and paused for a moment before heading up the staircase to attend to his wife. He would do his best not to overthink his friendship with the Captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks for reading!
> 
> I am still figuring out a format for this story. I have an archive of sorts of diary entries by Axel von Fersen (John Watson) and I'm not sure whether to start each chapter with an entry, like this one, and then tell the story of what is behind each diary entry. I think I may do it like that for a little while, to get the story going, and then switch it up a bit. It will obviously change when they begin writing letters to each other, but until then, I feel like this is the way to go forward. Let me know what you guys think!


	4. Card Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter one today, I'm afraid. Still working out the format of how I want each chapter to go. There's a possibility I may be adding parts to previous chapters, as I've realised there's a few bits I've actually missed from the timeline, but if I do I'll be sure to let you guys know so you don't miss anything!

**_8 September, 1778 (John Hamish Watson) exert from a letter to his sister._ **

 

_The King_ _who is the prettiest and most amiable man that I know_ _has had the kindness to inquire about me often; he even asked others why I did not go to his card parties on Sundays. I suppose I shall attend on the coming Sunday. The King has requested my audience, after all - it would be uncivilised to refuse._

 

——

 

Sherlock waited anxiously in his chateaux, surrounded by guests he couldn’t care less about. Every time somebody walked through the entrance, he sat up, hoping to see the one visitor he actually cared about. But, much to his dismay, every person who arrived was even more dull than the last.

 

He slouched in his chair and looked toward the fireplace, remembering their previous meeting where they sat together and just… talked. An activity that, before John, would have bored Sherlock to tears. But this man somehow fascinated the King, and he found himself never wanting to be away from his company. He pouted, closed his eyes, and escaped the loud room to his quiet thoughts.

 

The silence didn’t last long, however.

 

“Hello, Sherlock.”

 

At the sound of the Captain’s voice, Sherlock stood up so quickly he almost stumbled over before opening his eyes - perhaps he should have done those in reverse order.

 

Or, maybe not.

 

Sherlock was now being cradled in John’s arms, preventing his - rather ungraceful - fall. The man holding him blushed and removed his hands from the King’s hips. He smiled at Sherlock.

 

“John,” Sherlock breathed, suddenly unsure where to place his gaze. “Thank you, I… I apologise for my foolishness.”

 

John held up his hands. “Please, Your Majesty, there’s no need to apologise.”

 

Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded, cringing at the man’s use of _Your Majesty_ , finally meeting John’s eyes with his own. He noted how his irises were swallowed up by his dark pupils, his breath heavy, mouth hanging slightly open. His body was tense. _Oh_.

 

They remained like that for a few moments longer, before their exchange was interrupted by a voice in the distance.

 

“Your Highness, we are setting the table in the courtyard for the game.”

 

Without taking his eyes off John, Sherlock simply waved a dismissal at the voice. “Yes. We’ll be right out.” He blinked. “Will you be joining us, John Watson?”

 

John cleared his throat and nodded. “Of course.” He watched as Sherlock’s lip curled into a gentle smile, and then _oh, he’s leaning towards me, he’s parting his lips, he’s-_

 

“Henry?”

 

The breathy whisper practically sent John’s body into shock. Sherlock’s mouth had almost brushed against John’s ear; his hand resting upon his shoulder, holding him still.

 

“I… I’m sorry?”

 

Sherlock brought his face back to look at John, his eyes examining him closely, almost searching for an answer. “John _H_ Watson. Am I right? Is it Henry?”

 

The Captain almost buckled under the King’s touch. He chuckled. “No, Sherlock,” he shivered under his gaze, “it’s not Henry. Good guess, though.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Sherlock removed his hand and both men instantly missed the contact. John cleared his throat and stood up straight. He motioned toward the courtyard. “Shall we?”

 

——

 

The card game seemed to pass by quickly, and soon everybody was expressing their goodbyes with pleasant curtseys and bows. John straightened his jacket and rose from his seat. He turned to face Sherlock, who had also vacated his own seat.

 

“Thank you for today, Wil- Sherlock. Your invitation is greatly appreciated.”

 

Sherlock hummed a quiet response, his cupid-bow lips once again turning into a small display of happiness.

 

“I trust I’ll see you again?” John continued, blushing at his not-so-obvious attempt at feigning disinterest.

 

The King read him like an open book and smirked. “Naturally.”

 

John smiled and nodded his head before turning and heading for the courtyard gates. He chanced one last look over his shoulder, and memories of their first meeting at the ball graced his mind. Sherlock was, once again, looking at him too. The King raised his hand and waved.

 

Sherlock watched as John looked over his shoulder. He waved at the Captain, and continued to watch him until he was no longer visible behind the obnoxiously large hedgerows. “Farewell, Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact - 99% of the diary/letter extracts I'll be using (especially those from John) are actually real and true (except for the obvious few words changed here and there to make it match the characters). 
> 
> P.S. Your guys' comments have been great. Feedback always gets me on my toes and working on the next chapter. I'm so excited and glad that you guys are enjoying it! 
> 
> P.S.S. Is there any particular format you guys would like to see? My thoughts are to use a diary entry or exert from a letter to start a chapter, and then expand upon it within the story - up until the letters between the two begin. There is a lot of story to cover before that happens, though.


	5. A Man In Uniform: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments and feedback, it means so much to me (no I'm not crying I swear) ahhhhh
> 
> Please enjoy this chapter! It's a little short, but I left it on a juicy little cliffhanger so you can all look forward to what's coming (literally coming)
> 
> p.s. the dated parts are diary entries. If they are exerts from letters, I'll make that known!

**_10 November, 1778 (John Hamish Watson)_ **

 

_The King treats me with great kindness; I often pay him a visit at his card-games, and each time he makes to me little speeches that are full of good-will. As I had told him of my Swedish uniform, he expressed a wish to see me in it; I am to go Thursday thus dressed, not to Court, but to the King’s own private apartments. Is that a bad idea?_

 

——

 

“You mentioned you were a military man, Watson.”

 

John nodded, mid-sip of his fruity alcoholic beverage and hummed. “Yes, I am. I hold the position of _Mestre de camp propriétaire_ , but all of my men call me Captain,” he shrugged, “much easier that way.”

 

The gentleman smiled genuinely at him. He had approached John in the palace courtyard to introduce himself as Christoph Willibald Gluck - the King’s music teacher. This had captured John’s attention and he found his thoughts drifting to Sherlock’s nimble fingers stroking a mystery instrument. _I wonder what he plays? I must ask him._ Gluck raised his glass, bringing John back to the present.

 

“We are indebted to you, Captain. Your service does not go unappreciated.”

 

John beamed at the praise. This was one of many card party events he had attended as an excuse to spend an afternoon with the King. He didn’t care for the card games, God no, he simply needed a reason to be amongst Sherlock’s intimate casual company in his private chateaux instead of the monstrously upper-class palace events where John was almost always required to be stood at attention. He enjoyed the little down time he could get, especially when the King was involved.

 

_Speaking of the King._

 

“He’s right, you know. We are all grateful to you.” His deep, baritone voice rumbled through John’s chest and he sucked in a breath at his sudden appearance beside him. He looked up at Sherlock’s eyes - they were green today - and felt his heart skip a beat., something that seemed to be happening frequently lately. Maybe he should see a doctor about that.

 

“Thank you,” he managed; the tips of his ears turning pink. “That kind of praise is… immense, coming from you, Your Majesty.”

 

He watched Sherlock grimace and saw Gluck wander off out of the corner of his eye. “ _Please_ , John. I do despise repeating myself. You _really_ don’t have to call me that. Especially not here.” He waved his hand in a weak gesture.

 

John nodded, unsure of what to say, but _loving_ the way his name sounded on Sherlock’s lips. He took another sip of his drink.

 

“I would like to see you in that uniform, though.”

 

 _Fuck._ John sucked in a breath and almost choked on his drink, leaning forward to capture any escaping liquid from his mouth, mustering all of his strength to appear entirely normal and unaffected by what Sherlock had just said. Meanwhile, Sherlock simply grinned at him, innocence flooding his expression. “What?”

 

John ignored him and caught his breath. “These are casual events, though. What possible reason could I have for wearing it?”

 

Sherlock answered fast, scrunching his nose up as if to think _what a ridiculous question_. He stood a little taller. “The King requested it, of course.”

 

John laughed. “Requested, or _demanded_?”

 

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. “Whichever floats your boat,” he tilted his head to the side, lowering his voice into a soft whisper, “ _Captain_.” A tiny smirk rose upon his lips and he returned his gaze to their surroundings. The emphasis on the word _Captain_ sent heat-ridden jolts through John’s body. “It wouldn’t be here though.”

 

Thankful for the quick diversion, John cleared his throat. “It wouldn’t?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“It’s not obvious to me.”

 

Sherlock crinkled his nose again. _Why was John noticing these small details?_ “Give yourself some credit. You implied it already: these are just casual events. It would certainly raise some eyebrows if you turned up in your uniform.” He raised his chin and folded his arms across his chest, almost appearing proud. “That’s why you’d come to my private quarters, of course.”

 

John was thankful for the lack of drink in his mouth this time, because _that_ caught him off guard even more so than the initial comment about his uniform. “Y-your… _private_ quarters?”

 

“Problem?”

 

John suddenly felt rather flustered at the authority of the King looking down at him. “No… Not at all, Your Maj-” _nose crinkle_ , “Er, Sherlock. Not at all.” _Christ_. “When do you wish to arrange it for?”

 

 

——

 

 

**_19 November, 1778 (John Hamish Watson)_ **

 

_Today I am to present myself to the King. I confess, this is a strange experience for me. I, for the first time, feel rather foolish in this uniform. I fear I am making a terrible mistake, but I admit, I cannot find it in myself to refuse._

 

——

 

John approached the door hastily, stopping every few seconds to straighten his uniform or pull his jacket tighter around his chest. From beyond the threshold he could hear what sounded like a classical piece being played on a violin. The King must already have some company, then.

 

He raised his fist to knock but stopped, gathering his thoughts for a moment. _What would he and Sherlock do, in his apartment, on their own? What were the proper protocols for spending time alone with the King? How long would he be staying for? Should he have brought some sort of gift? A beverage, perhaps? And, more importantly, how was he supposed to keep his hands off-_

 

He blinked back into reality to find himself face-to-face with Sherlock who was stood in the doorway with an amused look on his face. The violin was no longer playing. John realised, only then, that he was still standing with his arm raised in the air. _Positively ridiculous_. He dropped it and clenched his fists at his side. “Hello.”

 

“Hello, John.” Sherlock took a moment to rake his eyes across _all_ of John, taking in every new element to his appearance. He stood to one side. “Do come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehehehehehehehehe.


	6. A Man In Uniform: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! So, so sorry for the late update. I've been an absolute mess and my mental health is in shambles right now (lol!). I've been trying to write this chapter since the last upload and I've only just been able to sit and do it. Thank you all so much for your patience with this chapter, and I really hope it makes up for the wait. More to come! I promise! <3

“Do come in.”

…

 

Sherlock watched, amused, as John tiptoed cautiously into the room. His uniform was immaculate. The dark navy suit clinging to his form really brought out his eyes.

 

“Thank you,” John finally muttered, eyeing the room before finding a chair to plop down onto. Sherlock followed, choosing the chair opposite. John swore he could see Sherlock’s eyes devouring him. He fidgeted, slightly uncomfortable, fixing the golden sash across his chest. “I thought I could hear music earlier?”

 

Sherlock’s hands were pressed together, perched under his chin. He was slouched in his chair - as usual - and it appeared he hadn’t heard John. He was too busy literally _staring_ at John’s form. The soldier smirked and leaned forward in his chair to wave a hand in front of him. “Hello? My eyes are up here!”

 

At that, Sherlock’s eyes snapped up to meet Johns and he fought hard to hide the blush rising on his cheeks. “Yes, that was me.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“The music you heard. I play.”

 

John straightened his back and raised his eyebrows. “You play the violin?”

 

Sherlock hummed and rose from his chair, finding it a little too difficult to remove his eyes from John. “Learned to at a young age. The gentleman you met at the last party has been teaching me recently… Not that I need it.” He picked up his violin, letting his eyes roam over the sleek wood.

 

“Could you play something right now?”

 

Sherlock smirked and raised the violin to his chin. From the first note drawn, John felt it was different from anything he had ever heard. The tune began simply, so simply, but eloquent as a human voice, speaking to him, beckoning him gently as the song unwound, spiralling upward, and somehow the tension in the room grew with each note drawn. Sherlock’s eyes remained closed as he swayed side-to-side gently, his fingers flying over the strings, spilling forth surely more notes than were possible from a single man and a violin. For one mad moment, John truly believed there were more of them - there had to have been - an entire orchestra of violins somehow spilling out of just one. It was poetry and seduction and light and shadow. John found it impossible to breathe, yet that was all he was doing, breathing, quite heavily. The music itself had become as palpable as a presence in that room as another person would have been, and its presence was something out of a myth.

 

And then it ended.

 

 _Wow_ , John thought.

 

“Hmm?”

 

Okay, maybe he said it aloud. “That was amazing, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock beamed and blushed, and John once again reminded himself to praise this man more often. “I’ve not heard that one before. Is it new?”

 

“Not quite,” Sherlock began, “I composed it.”

 

John stood and straightened his uniform. “Sherlock, that’s… that’s amazing. Beautiful.”

 

Sherlock sucked in a breath and he averted his eyes from John, locking them onto the ground. He couldn’t allow this to happen. This was a terrible idea. Why had he invited John to his private quarters? What sort of message was that supposed to send?

 

John spoke, pulling Sherlock from his thoughts. “Sherlock? Are you alright?”

 

Sherlock hadn’t noticed that John had stepped closer to him in those few moments. He spoken a pained whisper, “John…”

 

He moved closer, Sherlock’s back now flush against the wall. “Shhh,” he reached out, hesitantly, to brush his fingers across Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock’s entire body somehow softened but stiffened at the same time, relieved but terrified, and he kept his eyes locked firmly onto John’s. “Can I…” John stopped and his jaw tensed. “Can I kiss you?”

 

There was the faint sound of the violin falling to the ground beside them. Sherlock didn’t reply; his eyes flicked down to John’s lips and then back to his eyes. And then it happened.

 

It was at first almost as if he hadn’t wanted to kiss him. The resistance. The fear. His mouth was hard on Sherlock’s, unyielding; then he put both arms around him and pulled him flush against his chest. Finally, their lips softened, and Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut. They could feel the rapid beating of their hearts against each other. John wound his hands into his hair, those dark, unruly curls, as he’d wanted to do since the first moment they met. His hair curled around his fingers just as he had dreamt. Sherlock’s heart was hammering, and there was a rushing sound in his ears, like beating wings. They broke apart and pressed their foreheads together, gasping for air.

 

John tried to pull away, muttering something about _sorry_ and _mistake_.

 

“No,” Sherlock breathed, gripping John’s clothes, keeping him close. “No.” He wanted to preserve this moment so badly, this little slice of time where the cool air blew through the windows against their skin and the birds sang. He wished he could explore John’s body and inspect every last inch of him, learn him; memorise him. That way, he’d know what to miss when he was gone. His grip tightened on John. He was hauntingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. It made his head hurt.

 

This couldn’t end well.


	7. Secret Quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update! Another short one, but still just as sweet. Next chapter should be a little longer, as a lot will be happening. Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, too! <3

“I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

 

John attempted to break away from Sherlock. Why did he kiss him? He could have the King executed for that. And himself, no doubt. He stepped backwards but stopped at the sensation of fingers gripping his sleeves.

 

“No,” Sherlock gasped, his eyes full of panic and rejection and _want_. “No.”

 

John softly shook his head. “Sherlock…”

 

“Please, John. Don’t leave. Stay a while.”

 

“I can’t be here,” John whispered, unable to look at Sherlock.

 

He gave him the only honest and true answer he had. “You’re right where I want you to be.”

 

John placed his hands on Sherlocks and carefully removed them from his sleeves. He brought his hands down in front of him and held them, giving them a quick squeeze. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

 

“Good,” Sherlock smiled. “I want to show you something.”

 

_——_

 

Sherlock closed the door behind them and stepped ahead of John. “Come along.”

 

John followed the taller (and considerably faster) man through several doors and corridors until they reached a set of stairs. They climbed them and turned the corner.

 

Sherlock continued to lead John through a few more doors until they reached one that appeared slightly hidden from view. There were no guards, John noticed. Nobody was here. Sherlock handed him a key.

 

“Open it.”

 

John took the key and turned it in his palm, feeling a little confused. He eyed Sherlock, searching for some kind of answer, but found nothing. He turned to the door, unlocked it and stepped through.

 

 

He stepped into the room and vaguely heard Sherlock follow him in and close the door behind them. He stood silently, waiting for John to speak.

 

“I don’t understand. What are you showing me?” He turned to face Sherlock.

 

“It’s yours,” the King gestured around the room. “Your own rooms in the palace. Nobody ever comes here… You could stay here secretly. If… If you’d like.” He pulled another key out of his pocket. “There are only two keys. One for me and one for you.”

 

John felt rooted to the spot. His own rooms? “Sherlock…”

 

The excitement drained from Sherlock’s face. He shoved his key back into his pocket, began pacing around the room whilst mumbling something about _stupid_ and _idiot_.

 

“Sherlock.”

 

He waved his hand in John’s direction, dismissing whatever he was about to say. “Don’t worry, John. Forget… Forget about this. It was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

 

For a second, John remained confused, penny in the sky, but then, _oh_ , penny drops, _he thinks I hate it_.

 

“I’d need a Swedish oven.”

 

Sherlock stopped. “What?”

 

“I’d need a Swedish oven, if I’m going to stay here, Sherlock. Can’t cook on those ghastly things,” he pointed towards the kitchen. “Think that’s possible?”

 

The taller man almost melted with relief and he smiled, the corners of his mouth almost reaching his ears. “Anything.”

 

John returned the smile. “I’ll need a few days to get my affairs in order.”

 

“I’ll wait.”

 

They stood for a moment, just watching each other, waiting. Sherlock’s eyes flicked down to John’s feet and back, and John shivered a little under his gaze.

 

He spoke, finally breaking the thick silence. “I suppose I should make a start then. I will return in a few days.”

 

He took one step towards the door when suddenly he was being grabbed and pushed against a pillar in the room. Sherlock’s face was mere millimetres away from his; his breath hot upon his cheek. “Close your eyes,” he whispered, and John obliged. “I want to kiss you.”

 

He hesitated for a second to see if John would pull away or resist, but he didn’t. He simply stood there, a faint smile on his lips; eyes closed and waiting. So he closed the space between them. He was going to regret it, but in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He kissed him so deeply, he couldn’t tell who was breathing for who. It felt like water crashing through a dam. John’s arms came up around his neck and he pulled him closer against him. Sherlock’s hands found their way to John’s back and flattened, kissing him fiercely, clinging to him now, knotting his hands into the fabric of John’s uniform. John let out a small groan, rumbling against Sherlock’s mouth, which appeared to bring him back to reality. They pulled apart, gentler this time, and sighed.

 

“A few days?” Sherlock whispered.

 

“Just a few days. I’ll come back, Sherlock. I promise.”

 

**_——_ **

 

**_19 November, 1778 (William Sherlock Scott Holmes)_ **

 

_I have fallen for a man. He touches me with his fingers. He burns holes into my skin with his mouth. And it hurts when I look at him… It hurts when I don’t. It feels like someone has cut me open with a jagged piece of glass. If nothing more happens between us, my memory shall be cursed with what hasn’t happened. What could be. What can’t be. Most of all, I adore him. I hate him. I think of him… Often. It’s so, so wrong. And yet I can’t stop. My heart belongs to him._


	8. Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had promised. “Just a few days”. Given Sherlock his word. But a week had passed. So, why hadn’t he returned?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to everyone who was patient enough to wait for me to update. For those of you who didn't see my authors note previously (I've deleted the chapter now), I was so caught up with full time work AND university assignments that were due very close together. But, here I am, I'm back and here to stay!! This story will be completed if it is the last thing I do!

Sherlock’s audience had been requested by a family of some sort of importance. He sat in the throne - or, slouched, rather - barely listening to what was being said. He was lost in his thoughts… Thoughts about John. They had met, they had kissed (twice!) and Sherlock had offered him a place to stay in the palace. He said he would come back. John had promised. “Just a few days”. Given Sherlock his word. So, why didn’t he return?

Sherlock thought perhaps he was being a little too eager, too anxious. What classed as a few days anyway? Two? Ten? Why hadn’t John been clearer? The King stirred in his chair.

He couldn’t focus. The Queen - Molly - was beside him; equally as disinterested. He smirked a little at that, finding a pinch of comfort in the thought that yes, this job was abysmal, but at least he wasn’t alone. He trusted Molly, he had a friend in her. They had been doing this together since they were teenagers, working together to rule France. But he didn’t love her.

Sometimes, he’d feel guilt about that. He’d catch her glancing over at him, an expression on her face he couldn’t quite define, but he thought it looked something akin to regret, or remorse.

She didn’t love him either.

His eyes flicked to her stomach. They had announced a few days prior that she was pregnant with his child, and due very soon. Only they knew, though, that the child wasn’t his. It was her lover’s. They were yet to consummate their marriage - something that they both knew was never to happen. Not that the public had any business in knowing that. They could think whatever they liked.

His thoughts drifted back to John. He needed to find a way to contact him, to find out when he had ultimately changed his mind about becoming a part of Sherlock’s life.

——

**_22nd November, 1778 (John Hamish Watson)_ **

_Oh, how mindless. How ignorant I have been. I have allowed myself to fall into a sordid - and illegal! - love affair with the King. But his wife is pregnant with his child! What was I thinking? Why did I ever believe that he wanted me? That he and the Queen were still unconsummated? What a ridiculous thought._   
****

_I am angry. I feel as though I have been used and discarded. But his kiss had felt so real, so genuine. Why, oh why has he subjected me to this torture? Was this his intention?_

_I fear I shall never love another as fiercely as I love the King of France. And yet, here I am, unable to have him._

 

——

Two weeks. Two weeks since John had left, promising he would return. Sherlock felt as though he were going insane, staring at the palace walls with pouted lips as if he were a teenager.

“Brother mine, you really should stop pouting. You look ridiculous.”

_Oh, yes. That was right. Mycroft was visiting_. Sherlock only huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

Mycroft rubbed his palm over his face, sighing. “It’s probably a misunderstanding, little brother. Why don’t you just write to him?”

“I don’t know his address, moron.”

“You are the King of France,” Mycroft mimicked Sherlock’s tone,“ _moron_.”

Maybe Mycroft was right. He should be able to find John’s address somewhere, right? He had to do something. It had simply been too long. He walked over to his brother, a fake grin plastered on his face. “Thank you, _brother mine_.” His grin fell. “Now get out.”

Mycroft sighed but nodded. “Very well, Sherlock. I will give your regards to Mummy.”

Sherlock dismissed his reply by ushering him out of the room. “Out.”

Now alone in his quarters, he opened a drawer in his desk to retrieve some paper and ink. He sat in the chair and brushed a palm over the surface of the paper. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

_Dearest Watson,_

_I sincerely hope you do not mind my writing to you. It seems that I have been burdened with my own destructive mind and was hoping you would let me in on why you hadn’t returned to my quarters. I do miss your company._

_If it is to do with our… Intimacy… I truly hope you do not fear you have made a mistake by doing what you did. If it is any consolation, I rather enjoyed it, and would not be against an encore. Perhaps lasting a little longer than previously?_

_I digress. I suppose, what I am trying to ask you, John, is why aren’t you here? Why have you not contacted me? I fitted your Swedish oven. Well, I purchased it. The King of France does not partake in such boring activities as fitting ovens._

Sherlock smirked at his words. He continued.

_Please do write back. Or visit. Your rooms are ready, whenever you are._

 

_Your friend,_

_Sherlock._

 


	9. Letter from John to Sherlock, December 1778

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John rose to take the letter. “Thank you. Back to work,” John ordered with a smile, and sat down in his chair. It wasn’t until he turned the letter over that he felt the air leave his lungs, forcing him to suck in a deep breath. He straightened his posture and gripped the letter tight, fingertips beginning to turn white from the pressure. Something inside him knew exactly who this letter was from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thanks again for your patience. The next few chapters (not entirely sure how many yet) are going to be in the form of letters. Remember, these letters are the REAL letters sent between Fersen and Antoinette, and that's why I just adore the authenticity of it all. The snarky remarks, the little hints of "I really want to talk to you and see you again but I need to remain professional"... It's just all so perfect and angsty in the same way. I hope you guys can pick up on it with how I've placed them in the story. Hope it all makes sense.

“Captain, you’ve a letter.”

Over the past week, John had busied himself with his work. He was a Captain, first and foremost, and he felt he needed to remind himself that he had a duty: to himself and to this country. Tensions were becoming heightened between the civilians and the royal family - something he was yet to understand - his presence needed now more than ever.

He was in the middle of examining some plans when the young man approached him, arm outstretched, offering an enveloped letter. _Probably some correspondence of military importance_ , John thought. They’d had a lot of that lately.

John rose to take the letter. “Thank you. Back to work,” John ordered with a smile, and sat down in his chair. It wasn’t until he turned the letter over that he felt the air leave his lungs, forcing him to suck in a deep breath. He straightened his posture and gripped the letter tight, fingertips beginning to turn white from the pressure. Something inside him knew exactly who this letter was from.

——

John slammed the letter onto his desk. “Clueless bastard,” he whispered, now rubbing a palm over his tired face. The King - Sherlock - wrote this letter as if he himself wasn’t aware of his own wife’s pregnancy. He was having a child with the Queen of France and appeared entirely blasé about the entire thing. Does he not realise how this had affected _him_? The man had kissed him, for gods sake, and it had felt real. John had felt truly wanted for the first time in his life. And now this? The utter idiot. He can’t be _that_ ignorant, surely. John felt tears threatening to fall from his weary eyes.

“He actually has _no_ idea, does he? Christ…”

The Captain stood and regained his composure. He would respond, of course he would. But they weren’t anything, were they? The King had his life with the Queen. He had a child on the way. And John would not intrude.

There were military matters that the King needed to know, anyway. He would write to him about those, instead.

 

 

**_(Letter from John to Sherlock, December 1778)_ **

 

_Your Majesty,_

_Doubtless you have learnt of the decision of the War Council that deprives colonels who have served in America of the advantage of counting those campaigns towards their promotion, while by virtue of those campaigns some colones have been made brigadiers and subsequently field marshals. The Comte de Rochambeau has spokenin vain against the manifest injustice of this decision. The councilhas persisted, and we see ourselves deprived of an advantage which our comrades have enjoyed without having done any more than we have to earn it._

_If Your Majesty would care to cast an eye over the observations I have the honour to give, which have been communicated to the Comte de Brienne, you will see the reasons which may be advanced in our favour. The Minister seemed to find them good, and if we could flatter ourselves that Your Maj ~~esty looked on them in the same light, we would be sure of success.~~_ ~~_It would be very pleasant in my case_~~ _. I myself undertook four campaigns in America. If the Council’s decision is upheld, I would require another eight to be made field marshal. If it can be changed, I only need four._

 _I hope the benevolent kindness which characterises Your Majesty will excuse my importunity,_ ~~_especially at a time when you must be occupied by more interesting affairs_~~ _, and give me the certainty that despite the more important affairs which must occupy you at present, the King will not disdain to cast an eye over the affair I have the absolute honour to speak to him about and that He will condescend to accept the tribute of my respectful attachment._

 

_Captain Watson._


	10. Letter from Sherlock to John, December 1778

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock responds bluntly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the beginning of Axel and Antoinette's correspondence, there's proof that she has replied, but none of her letters were recovered. So, I have to improvise with Sherlock's responses, if that makes sense. Later on though, I will use her actual letters.

Sherlock gripped the letter with a fierce sense of confusion. He had thrown himself at the Captain not just three weeks ago, and now he was being cold and detached and entirely uninterested.

If he was going to speak to Sherlock in such a derogatory matter, so be it. He too had a duty to the country, and if correspondence with John regarding military matters was an aspect of this, then he supposed he had no other choice.

 

**( _Letter from Sherlock to John, December 1778_ )**

 

_Hello Captain,_

 

 _I thank you for returning my note with such ignorance and sarcasm._ ~~_My only regret is that I believed you felt anything for me at all_ ~~ _. Yet, this is not the place to discuss personal affairs, I understand, that is your preference. In which case, I shall simply grant your promotions, so please, take this letter as proof of my authority in this matter._

_If that is all you wished to ask me after our time apart, then I understand that our correspondence ceases here._

_Goodbye, Captain._

 

_The King of France._


	11. Letter from John to Sherlock, December 1778

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The snarky remarks continue.

John laughed. He actually laughed at the response. How childish! So much for “King of France”, John thought.

 

Well, he asked for it.

 

**_(Letter from John to Sherlock, December 1778)_ **

 

_King of France,_

_I dare to flatter myself that Your Majesty is too persuaded of my zeal and devotion to the person of the Queen and to that of Your Majesty to doubt all that I am feeling in the present circumstances, and that you will receive with kindness the assurances and expression of the keen desire I have to give you proof. The assembly of troops near Paris will certainly furnish me with the opportunity. All my wishes would be granted if the regiment I have the honour to command were there, and the day that I become happy enough_ ~~_to be the instrument of the Queen’s wishes_ ~~ _to serve the Queenwould be the most beautiful day of my life._

_Condescend then, Sir, to grant me the favour I request as an effect of the favours it has pleased you to honour me with, and put me in the position of meriting them by giving the Queen proofs of my zeal to serve her and showing my respectful attachment to her person, and not to you._

_Captain Watson._


	12. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TIME JUMP/INTERMISSION CHAPTER.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this story, I’m jumping ahead a little in time, as there’s still a while until the actual French Revolution and during that time there’s SO much correspondence between Fersen and Antoinette but none of her letters are found during this time, so it makes the story a little difficult to cover. Don’t worry, it’ll all still make sense (I hope). And they will be together again soon! In the next chapter.

The next few years passed tediously yet quickly. The Captain maintained his professional position and continued to correspond with the King and Queen in regards to military affairs. Their moments together were never mentioned in writing again, but that did not mean either man had forgotten the intimacy.

 

**_Exert of a letter from John to Harry, April 1790_ **

_Believe me, my dear sister, the King deserves all the feelings once can have for him. He is the most perfect creature I know and his conduct, which is perfect, too, has won over everyone and everywhere I hear him praised. Imagine how much I enjoy it._

 

It was common knowledge, unfortunately, that by this point in time the King was very much disliked by the public. The French Revolution had begun the year prior, in 1789, and John had been tasked with seeing to the personal protection of the Royals. 

 

He had seen Sherlock a small number of times since the day they had kissed, always sharing a knowing look. It wasn’t until the dangers of the revolution began, though, that John suddenly felt regret for all the years lost between them. He had been holding onto that grudge - the child - and it appeared he just couldn’t ignore the fact. Lord knows he tried.

 

He adored Sherlock. And Sherlock adored him. They just hadn’t found a way to express it in these troubling times. Until now.

 

**_Exert of a letter from Sherlock to John,February 1790_ **

 

**_EXAMPLE IN LETTER:_ **

  1. ******_Jai reçu ma chère amie la vôtre du …_**
  2. ******_l un dilu nd ilund ilun di lundi lu …_**
  3. ******_4q7 08,a &2 58ueb …_**
  4. ******_lun dilu nd ilund …_**
  5. ******_J’ai reçu ma chère …_**



 

_In order to use this cipher, John, you need a key, that is, any word. The least easy to guess is the day of the date of the letter; in the example I have placed in this letter they key would be Monday because 1 February is a Monday. If it were the 2nd, it would be Tuesday, the 3rd Wednesday and so on. To change it one could underline the place from where the letter is dated, as in_ _Stockholm_ _: the line underneath will indicate that_ _Stockholm_ _is the key. Each time there is a day in front of the date, that will mean that the day is the key. That would only be necessary if one wanted a different key from the actual day of the date, so: Wednesday 1 February - then Wednesday would be the key word._

_To encrypt line 1, you write Monday underneath, because 1 February is a Monday. If it were the 2nd, one would write Tuesday. You must be careful to write the letters exactly underneath, John, as in line 2. Then in the code table you look on side no. 1 for the letter L. You follow the line horizontally until you reach the letter J. Then you go up to the first line of side no. 2, where you will find a 4, which will be the first letter of the code. You go back to side 1 for the letter U. You follow the line to the letter A, you go up and on the first line of side 2 you find a Q, which will be the second line of the code - and so on, as you can see from line 3 of the example._

_To decipher, you write Monday underneath each code, as in line 4 of the example. You then look in side 1 of the code table for the letter L. Then you look in the first line of side 2 for a 4. The place where these two lines cross in the table will give you the letter J. Then a U in side 1 and a 9 from side 2 will give you an A, and so on. One must be careful to leave enough space between the lines to decode. Monday starts again on each line._

__

In light of protecting the King, John had suggested that he organise his living quarters in the Tuileries, so that it would also be possible for them to see each other again in private. The Queen, however, had made it clear that she did not wish to leave Paris, despite John’s opinion that she had made a mistake in allowing herself to be taken there. Molly was, to John, the most irresolute character, and persuading her of the need to take action was more than difficult; no escape plan for her and the King had been discussed, despite it being of massive importance. John had attempted to solve this by writing to George Washington.

 

**_Exert of a letter from John to George Washington, January 1790_ **

_The Queen is in effect a prisoner at Paris, and obeys entirely the National Assembly… but what will you have from a creature, who situated as she is, eats and drinks and sleeps well, and laughs as merry as a grig as lives? The idea that they will give her some money which she cane economise contents her entirely. Poor woman, she little thinks how unstable is her situation. She is beloved, but it is not with the sort of love which a monarch should inspire. It is the kind of good natural pity which one feels for a led captive. There is besides no possibility of serving her, for at the slightest show of opposition she gives up everything and every person._

 

 

Finally, though, John had managed to sneak the King and Queen away and into a safe place - for now. Shackled to a wife who remained inert while her enemies butchered loyal servants of the crown in public, Sherlock of course sought solace in John.

 

**_(DECODED)_** **_Letter from Sherlock to John, June 1791_**

_I exist, my beloved, and it is to adore you. How worried I have been about you; without you, and how I pity you at having no news of us. May heaven let this reach you. Don’t wrote to me: it would expose us. And, above all, do not return here under any pretext. They know it was you who got us out of here - all would be lost if you were to appear. We are watched day and night. I don’t care, because you are not here. Don’t worry, nothing will happen to me. The Assembly wants to treat us gently. Farewell, most loved of men. Calm yourself, if you can. Look after yourself for me. I won’t be able to write to you any more, but nothing in this world can stop me adoring you until I die._

 

 

John held the letter in his trembling fist and felt a deep rumbling of something between a scream and a growl begin to emerge from his throat. “No,” he told himself. He would not allow this to happen to Sherlock. He had to save him. But how could he approach her without endangering her?

 

 

**_(DECODED) Letter from John to Sherlock, June 1791_ **

_Please, Sherlock, do not push me out. Do not send me away. Do not write as though it is your last. Tell me a way I can contact you safely. I must see you. Tell me everything I need to know, Sherlock._

 

 

**_(DECODED) Letter from Sherlock to John, June 1791_ **

_I can tell you, John, that I love you and that’s even all I have time for. I am well, don’t worry about me. I wish I could know that you are, too._

_You are persistent. Write to me by post in code. Address it to Mr Redbeard, a double envelope to Mr Gougeno. Get your valet de chamber to write the addresses. Tell me to whom I should address those I may be able to write to you, because I can’t go on living without that. Farewell, most loved and most loving of men. I kiss you with all my heart._


End file.
